Play Amongst the Bees, And You're Going to Get Stung
by Madame Cyanure
Summary: A lot has happened since Janine last saw Sherlock Holmes. She's found new ways to spend money, moved to Sussex, and attempted to adjust to an early retirement. Yet she can't seem to get rid of the beehives. Sherline. Mild sexual content and major SPOILERS for His Last Vow. xx
1. Part One

**Play Amongst the Bees, And You're Going to Get Stung**

She had been out here for a little over a month now, in her big fat corner of the Sussex Downs. She had since concluded that retirement was, in a word, _different_. It was a stark contrast to the polluted gleam of the City and the inherent cut-throat bitchiness that came with a career in the media. It was also, in another word, _boring_. The cottage itself was massive in a quaint, gingerbread house sort of way. There were too many rooms and a swimming pool which she would never use. The grounds were extensive and the nearest village was at least twelve miles away. There was no-one else around to launch a scathing critique of; even for her own amusement. In truth, the only thing she liked about the place was the ridiculous price tag; something that she could flash around on the rare occasion that she saw her friends. Besides, the witch in the gingerbread house always got burned.

And then there were the bloody bees. Even now, meandering among the hives as an excuse for something to do, Janine hated the little bastards. No matter how hard she tried, they would not take the hint and leave. It was like they were winning. She'd sealed them in; they'd found a new hole. She had been "careless" with the garden hose; they had formed a swarm. Smoke had just led to them snuggling down into their honeycombs, and like hell was she going to put any part of her body in there. However, poised as she currently was with a spray can of pesticide, she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Janine didn't want them there, just as they probably didn't want her, but she wasn't completely heartless.

Speaking of heartless, her ex-boss had turned up dead a few weeks earlier. It was all over the news, although it had only made the front page in the publications which he had owned. Magnussen's editors had each published a delightfully biased four page eulogy, probably in fear of his rising from the grave to use anything they said against them. Apparently he had committed suicide in that insane tribute to modern art which he had called a house; yeah, right. Magnussen had been no more likely to fall on his own sword than Janine was to open a strip joint. She hoped that someone had finally done the sensible thing and offed the man. He had never had anything completely concrete on her, just rumours and whispers, but it was reassuring to know that Magnussen was gone all the same. Janine wasn't exactly going to miss the appraising stare which had burnt into her every morning.

Huffing and feeling thoroughly annoyed at the complete lack of her own resolve, she allowed the bee killer to fall to the floor with a disheartened thump. Janine genuinely didn't know what she was going to do with this cottage. Keep it, obviously; as her biggest ever impulse buy she'd be damn stupid to give it up, but it wasn't home in the same way her small and IKEA-riddled Westminster flat was. Plus she had worked her way through so many pairs of wellies since putting down the deposit. Janine contemplated this as she subconsciously leaned against one of the hives, her naked fingers splayed over the entrance. She still had a bit of money left over from that interview with the BBC, so maybe it was time to go shopping for another house? She'd always fancied one of those weird, futuristic properties, or perhaps a – her train of thought was broken by a sharp, stabbing sensation in the region of her index finger. Apparently a bee hadn't agreed with her casual pawing of its front door. Janine yanked the stinger out and sucked insistently upon her finger while she watched the furry little arsehole die. One down; several thousand to go.

'You know, you really should be wearing protection for this sort of thing. It's much harder to conceal the evidence when anaphylaxis takes its toll.' A deep voice purred at her from behind, quiet yet commanding.

'Jesus!' Startled, Janine spun around to meet the iridescent eyes of Sherlock Holmes, her injured digit still curled loosely around her bottom lip.

'Not quite.' His mouth had the nerve to quirk into a brief smile. 'Hello, Janine.'

'Sherlock.' She breathed impatiently; attempting to dissuade her pulse from doing possibly the noisiest tap-dance in Christendom. 'How'd you find me?'

'You told me. I do believe that someone of your nature should still possess a smidgen of memory retention.' He was winding through the insect houses now, his coat flapping lazily around him as the collar straddled the impossible balance between ridiculous and cool.

'I thought you weren't paying attention – you did seem a little out of it. Anyway, I didn't exactly give you the address.'

'You turned off my morphine and then expressed an interest in the Sussex Downs; it was all I needed to know. Hardly a difficult deduction.'

'Care to tell me how?' Janine scorned, wary of the fact that he was fast closing the gap between them. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about this. 'Go on, Sherl. Impress a girl.'

His expression was akin to cold amusement. Like most of the Western World, Janine knew that Mr Holmes physically could not deny himself the pleasure of showing off. A stray thought escaped from the most curious corner of her mind, wondering if he actually got off on it. Given that their time together could basically be reduced to play-acting and chastity, Janine didn't know what he got off on. And that was a dirty thought. By the time she had clawed her way back to the present; Sherlock had sped through his usual rant over the general populace's lack of observational skills and was in full swing.

'….You once stated that you have family in Brighton; though you never said whom, this person is female and I suspect maybe an aunt. Given the amount of time you spent wittering on about them, it is clear that you would prefer to be close by. This narrowed things down to a fifty mile radius and from there it was easy. Given that we essentially spent a month living inside each other's pockets it was obvious that I just had to locate the most expensive, gauchely whimsical house within that area. Satisfied?'

'Satisfied.' She was begrudgingly impressed, but it did occur to her that she had more or less told him to piss off the last time they had spoken. And now they had merely a beehive between them. 'Why are you here, Sherl? You lied to me. Painkillers or not, I thought I made my intentions quite clear.'

'And I believe that I made quite clear that the drugs had not started working at that point. Your choice of words was decidedly ambiguous; hence you didn't know what your own plans were. In fact, I would say that you are still uncertain.' Sherlock replied smoothly, tongue curling around every syllable. The mask of his analytical gaze briefly slipped as he allowed himself a small, sharp intake of breath. If Janine had chosen to blink, she would have missed it. 'I didn't lie altogether. As a, ah, _friend_ of mine once said, disguise is always a self-portrait of the individual.'

'Meaning what exactly?' She was finding it very distracting that his breath was now periodically tickling her nose. When had this happened?

'That I don't do sentiment, Janine. Whilst what I did to you was in fact a ruse to serve a higher purpose, it wouldn't have been successful without some depth behind the lie. I am largely incapable of love; the notion contradicts my closest values. Yet during our time together, I discovered something more…..animalistic.'

'Oh.' _Oh_. If he was implying what she thought he was implying, well, it was unexpected to say the least. In spite of the light drizzle now clinging to the contours of her body, the temperature seemed to have gone up by at least ten degrees. Mary had once told her that he was the master of the unexpected, but Janine had always been cynical regarding men in general. Trust Sherlock Holmes to prove her wrong. 'Well as I'm talking to the man who not only strung me along solely to get into my boss's penthouse, but also famously spent two years playing possum, you'd forgive me for not believing that last bit. You could be lying to me right now.'

'Ah, but you worked in news, you recognise that only lies have detail. I think that you saw through my deception within the first week. Your refusal to acknowledge it was really quite charming. You would realise if I wasn't telling the truth now. Plus,' he made a small gesture as he brushed up against her, so close that she could smell him. Janine could feel a beckoning half-hard-on straining against the crisp fabric of his tight suit. She forcibly supressed a shudder as his tone lowered to a growling murmur. 'wouldn't you say that we have biological evidence to suggest otherwise?'

At this point Janine's veins were adamantly working overtime, their contents racing southwards and pooling between her legs. However, the small remainder of blood in her brain gave her the sense to push him away. She had wanted this, but she also had standards. Lust couldn't rule her head.

'I won't be your sex toy, Sherlock.' Janine put it as bluntly as she could, praying that he wouldn't notice the cataclysm of hormones parading around inside her at that moment.

'It's not about that.' He was still speaking in a whisper, all soft eyes and Byronic looks as he saw straight through her.

'Then what's it about?'

'Giving you your "just once".'

Before Janine had the chance to reply, Sherlock was kissing her in a way which could only be described as sinful. He gently nibbled at her bottom lip as he drew her impossibly closer; his arms snaking around her waist as an articulate tongue teased at her mouth. As unexpected things went, this was up there with the best. This wasn't the adolescent fumble of her daydreams; Sherlock was an_ expert_. His unholy knowledge of anatomy was now something to be revered. It was like he had been studying her, and Janine knew full well that he probably had. The man was a genius and could tell just how much she needed him more than even she could. He deepened his kiss whilst her brain and her erogenous zones clawed at each other for dominance. Janine began kissing back, her mind caving within seconds. Her fingers were hooked around his waistband and she was rolling her hips into his, thoroughly enjoying the warm, wet sensation as their bodies ground together. She wasn't submissive; just yielding. Neither of them was very vocal, but Sherlock's arousal was clear from the ever-growing bulge in his trousers and Janine felt pretty much blown away. She was lost in the moment, fantasising over how she would leave him begging until the last second in some futile plan to regain dominance. This went on for what seemed like an eternity, and Janine found herself entirely disappointed with the fact that she had to break for air.

'Okay, handsome. You win.'

'I always do.' Sherlock purred back at her, not missing a beat. He took her pause for oxygen as an excuse to kiss his way down her exposed neck, sucking at that sweet spot whilst cradling her head in the palm of his hand.

Her breath hitched in her throat in response to the overwhelmingly erotic sensation. He could play her like that bloody violin. For some reason, this made Janine laugh. The noise was hardly sexy; more like a short bark. It was a bit unfortunate, given the situation, but she gently pushed him away and used it as an intermission to press her point home.

'Let me finish; if we are going to do this, then we do it on my terms. Firstly; it's not all about you. Secondly;_ I _decide if you are any good or not. And finally; there's no way that my knickers are going anywhere in front of these bees. I'd rather not get stung in the arse, plus I really don't like the idea of letting the buggers watch.'

'Bees happen to be a prime example of a thriving hierarchy. I like them.'

'I know you do; and that's why I'm getting rid.' She snatched up Sherlock's hand and yanked him towards the direction of the house.

'And clearly you are doing a marvellous job of that.' His voice dripped with playful sarcasm; his hands ghosted over her hips.

Janine paused on the threshold to appraise the man in front of her, taking him in. The trench-coat had mysteriously been shed during their short dash for shelter, and the dewy suit clung to him like a damp glove. Janine grinned slyly back at him. She realised just how much she wanted the manipulative, back-stabbing bastard.

'Shut up, Sherl. Bedroom's upstairs.'

_**So, another series is over and I've found a new favourite pairing. At the request of MissMercury101, no bees were mentally scarred in the making of this fic! ;) There is a second part in the works, but whether it appears online depends entirely on the response I get from you guys. Seriously, reviews are adored. :) MC. xx**_


	2. Part Two

Well, that wasn't bad, Janine conceded. Sprawled across her massive four-poster bed like some confused and oversexed starfish, her mind kept wandering between the realms of consciousness whilst her body recovered from some incredibly intense skin-on-skin contact. Not that she had expected it to be awful, of course. From his opening ambush in the garden, it had become apparent that Sherlock Holmes wasn't just adept at dishonesty and detective work; that he was, in fact, full of gorgeous surprises. Janine had gone from nothing to pretty much gagging for it within seconds, and would have been ashamed of herself had the result not been so bloody exhilarating.

On the other hand, the initial foreplay was clearly Sherlock's forte. Once they had stumbled into the master bedroom, his tongue had only taken a few cautious swipes at her already throbbing clitoris before he became bored. The rest could be reduced to carnal, impulsive rutting. Sherlock had shredded his way through Janine's very expensive pair of knickers, although she told herself that she had pre-empted this and exacted her revenge accordingly; the plum-coloured shirt had shed a few buttons on the stairs, plus she would force him to buy her some new lingerie. She wasn't exactly shocked over his seduction tactics, because the man clearly preferred the thrill of the chase and knew precisely when he had got what he wanted from her. And Mr Holmes wasn't renowned for being a gentleman in a_ny_ context. He had given her the animal, as promised.

Somewhere in her pie-eyed bliss, Janine felt his form stir beside her and a cooling sensation as their remaining bodily contact was lost. She felt the mattress dip beneath them when he sat up and it suddenly occurred to her what he was doing. Janine wasn't having any of it.

'Oi! Where do you think you're going, Mister?' She murmured loud enough for her voice to carry, her eyes still closed. The movement beneath the covers stopped and Janine ventured a peek through her lashes. Sherlock was frozen by on the edge of the bed, an inquisitive expression occupying his sharp features as he gazed back down at her. She opened her eyes fully and continued. 'I thought we agreed that I'm not your sex toy?'

'We did. You are not. I've got work to do; I wouldn't be anywhere near the Downs if it weren't essential for a particular case.'

'Really? Well, you know how to make a girl feel special.'

'I assumed that the act which we just performed qualified.' He was still examining her with that same look of incredulity. It was becoming a real struggle for Janine to remember who he was and not slap him for being a selfish prick.

'Sarcasm, Sherl. I'll tell you this; if you leave now, I'll feel like I've been used by you for a second time. I won't like it, and I'll use it to buy myself a holiday.'

'Well, what do you propose instead?' His reply was flat, as if he still didn't get it. In all honesty, she thought that he probably didn't.

'That you come back inside. Cuddle.' Janine wriggled up in the direction of the headboard, using her elbow to prop herself up and deliberately expose her breasts. She saw Sherlock's pupils flicker and expand; he'd noticed.

'I….' Sherlock looked slightly mortified at her suggestion. The duvet rustled as he teetered between her and the outside world. 'I don't do cuddling.'

'And that would make a great headline, but you're lucky; you were alright and I'm feeling nice.' She laughed as she watched the usually seamless façade flicker between a bruised ego and genuine relief. Apparently the great Sherlock Holmes was much more transparent after shagging someone's brains out. 'Let me put it this way; you said what you feel for me is instinctual, right? If that instinct is as ingrained as you say it is, it can only be satisfied by spending more time with me. And, as we are both basically knackered, surely cuddling is your best bet?'

'I am working on a case.'

'Which you won't be giving your best efforts to if you're distracted by some very dirty thoughts.' She gave him her best flirtatious smile. 'Your little pause can last as long as you want to; until you get _me _out of your system.'

The afterthought stung a little, but Janine guessed that it would do the trick. She wouldn't be where she was today without a thick skin. There was a beat's worth of silence before she thought that she heard a begrudging noise of acceptance. He slid back down next to her, a stray black ringlet falling across his face when he reached her eye-level. Whilst Sherlock happened to be a genius, he also happened to be a man, and Janine had been counting upon that little fact in order to regain her immoral high ground. She snuggled into him, testing his reaction. Sherlock didn't seem as uncomfortable or tense as she had anticipated; rather, his arm was relaxed above her head, long fingers trailing lazily across her shoulder blades. In response to this slightly erotic tingling, Janine was feeling more inquisitive and started examining the aspects of Sherlock's body which she had previously neglected. The shiny, bullet-shaped scar in the middle of his chest, for example. Stroking it with a light circling motion and catching the occasional chest hair, she broke the comfortable silence between them.

'So, did you ever get what you wanted from Magnussen? You never told me what it actually was, and I've been wondering.'

'It didn't seem relevant.'

'As if anything between us ever was, Sherl!' She snorted in bitter amusement. 'Are you going to tell me then?'

'I did what needed to be done. It was a difficult case made exceptionally complicated by my incapacitation for six months. That's all you need to know.'

'Bullshit, Sherlock. You involved me in something that I didn't want to be involved in, cut me out completely and wouldn't even admit who shot you! I think I qualify for a few of the details.'

'I rather doubt that you did not want to be involved.' When she looked up at him, Janine could see that he was smirking. Sherlock might have had a point to that one. She impishly slapped his leg as punishment, listening to the rumble of his vocal chords in his chest as he went on. 'Additionally I was not the only one who was utilising you for your connections. Mary also had an agenda. She's the one who shot me, by the way.'

Ouch; that was a bloody low blow, but Janine could tell that he was being truthful for once. It would explain why, in spite of Janine's best efforts, she hadn't spoken to Mary since quitting her job. A thick skin couldn't hide everything; Janine had been doubly betrayed, and Mary was a fucking bitch. Janine would be having words with the Watsons' answer machine later, and then maybe the woman would actually pick up.

'Is everyone I know a deceiving bastard?'

'You "sold me out" in order to purchase this house, your former employer had half of the Western world eating excrement out of the palm of his hand, and you worked in an industry which is famed for its subterfuge. Should you really be asking that particular question?' Sherlock replied smoothly.

'Fair point.'

She knew that he was right, and her annoyance with Sherlock was quickly dissipating in favour of her disgust at Mary. Except that she couldn't milk the tabloids over stories about Mary Watson. They descended back into silence, although this time it felt like the two of them were sulking simultaneously instead of persisting with the ecstatic afterglow. She had every right to be upset, but she didn't know about Sherlock. Janine jolted in surprise when, after an eternity of stillness, he reached over the side of the bed and selected an item from his coat pocket in one swift motion. She scowled as Sherlock fumbled awkwardly with a packet of cigarettes, one arm still around her.

'Sherlock, don't you dare.' She cut across him when he lent forward to light one up.

'What?' The flame still flickered in his hand.

'You're not having a fag in here. Anyway, I thought that was what the attempt at nicotine poisoning was for, with the patches?'

'It helps me think. Stop being predictable and boring.' Sherlock snorted, ignoring her protest in favour of feeding his addiction. 'Having a hole carved through the abdomen tends to reshuffle one's priorities. The patches were dull.'

'Well, if you are essentially going to blank me, you can damn well go and open a window.' Janine disentangled herself from his embrace, fanning away the emerging cloud of smoke. She nudged him towards her side of the bed and indicated the presence of a single-glazed window a few metres away. 'I might actually want to sell this place one day.'

'You will, in about six months. Your discomfort in forcing yourself to live in countrified bliss is already clearly manifesting.'

'No it isn't.'

'Really?' Sherlock's words became a tad muffled as she watched him take another defiant drag. 'There are far too many rooms in this building for one person, which suggests that you are compensating, and we both know what for. There is an intermittent twitch above your left eye when you are not experiencing pleasure, indicative of stress brought about through boredom; believe me, I know the signs. Having spent the majority of your adult life as an office worker, you were vastly unprepared for the level of upkeep required for the grounds and hence have no idea what to do with them.' He quickly indulged himself once more, seeming to treat the cigarette like any normal person would oxygen. 'Not to mention your prolonged and inexplicable distaste towards the Anthophila species. Did I miss anything?'

'I don't trust the bees. They remind me of someone.'

'Clearly. As I said; six months.'

'Stop being such a clever arsehole and move.' Janine glowered. She kicked him gently when he remained where he was. 'Window. Now.'

Sherlock finally took the hint and climbed over her, aiming for the pane of glass on the other side. Janine felt a renewed tingle of arousal as his form brushed softly against her; though Sherlock's gangly limbs had propelled him far out of her reach before she could surrender to it once more. She watched as he meandered slowly, teasingly across the room; hair tousled and not so much as a stitch on him. There wasn't a hint of false modesty, and Janine knew that it was because Sherlock thought that the concept was outdated. His alabaster skin tautened when he anticipated the rush of cold air flooding into the room, and Janine found herself transfixed by the flexing of Sherlock's slender yet toned muscles as he reached upwards to unhook the latch. He appeared statuesque as he relaxed and settled upon the windowsill like an unconscious exhibitionist. The only indications that he was in any way human were the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional ash-induced reflex. It was delicious. She couldn't look away.

Curiosity had always been part of her nature, never mind the bit about it killing the cat. And as much as she was enjoying this particular distraction, Janine thought that she may as well take advantage of the fact that the world's only consulting detective was striding around her room in his birthday suit. She was his "tabloid whore", after all. She had some digging to do.

'I heard about Magnussen turning up dead.' She called over to him, still eyeing his pert behind. 'What do you think happened?'

'You saw the news. It was a suicide; a straight, open-and-shut case which even Scotland Yard couldn't fail to miss.'

'I know the people who wrote that crap. They gave one possible explanation, Sherl.'

'And you believe that it was the wrong one.' It wasn't a question. Janine couldn't see his face, but she imagined a rueful smile accompanying Sherlock's statement; he seemed to take a kind of dark pleasure in the subject.

'Magnussen was twisted, egotistical and self-centred. He made people dance to his tune for kicks –.'

'I am well aware what Magnussen was capable of; be grateful that he did not have access to anything too significant about you.'

' – What I'm trying to say is, I won't miss him. Far from it, but it just doesn't fit.'

'So you think that Magnussen was murdered. A cold-blooded vengeance killing by one of his…_clients_.'

'No; I think it was you.'

The shift in Sherlock's body language as he tensed was almost imperceptible. Janine wouldn't have noticed had she not been looking for it. _Damn._ Things must have really gone up shit's creek with that case. From what little information she had gleaned, he was a sociopath, but one with standards. Janine wondered how the hell they managed the cover up with a place the size of Appledore. Had Mike been involved? Janine snapped back to attention when she realised that those steely eyes were gazing intently over his shoulder and in her general direction. A sharp line of smoke hissed upwards from Sherlock's bottom lip as he made her wait with baited breath for his response.

'We are not discussing this, Janine.'

This was a change; Sherlock Holmes _not_ wanting to flaunt his skills in front of the general public. He wasn't denying it, which seemed to be part of his nature, so Janine knew that she must be right on some level. It was confirmation enough, and today had hurled a lot of shock-factor her way already. She could deal with not knowing the details behind this one.

'Okay, if you want to pretend it didn't happen then that's fine by me. Just saying; at least the bastard got what was coming to him. Not bad Mr Holmes. Not bad at all.'

A moment of relative calm passed between them whilst Janine listened to the rain pattering faintly upon the tin outhouse roof. Sherlock took several more drags of his cigarette, experimenting with every outward breath in the same way which a child would blow bubbles. Janine twitched and heaved the duvet cover closer to her chest as one of those tiny yellow-and-black bandits deigned to seek refuge from the outside world, simultaneously inciting Sherlock to glance at the clock which was occupying her dresser.

'I've wasted enough time here.' He sighed, addressing her from over his shoulder again. 'I need to finish explaining the obvious to these morons and return to London. There are bigger things which I could be doing.'

'What's the crime you're investigating down here then? Aside from me, I mean.' She smiled at her own inquisitiveness; she had to ask because she couldn't resist.

'Four corpses, all were members of the same family and found in mysterious circumstances.' Sherlock huffed, acknowledging her aside. 'Those mysterious circumstances involved a series of very fine puncture wounds at the base of the neck and apparent exsanguination; there was very little blood at the respective sites. The local police are predictably clueless.'

'Exsanguinated; do you mean that they bled out? Or was it a vampire fetish thing?' It sounded ludicrous when she said it aloud, and Janine earned herself a disparaging stare for her trouble.

'Don't be ridiculous, Janine! The case itself was straightforward; facile, in fact. I solved it before I left the flat. Hypodermic needles were used to inject a blood thinner and poison directly into the victims' carotid artery. The bodies had been moved and carefully positioned where others would find them. Hardly worth my time.'

'Why did you bother coming all the way to the middle of bloody nowhere then?'

'Aside from my client's incessant whining, isn't it obvious?' Sherlock turned around to greet her with a sad smile. His stance, although ultimately defensive, yielded to her unspoken pleasure of gaining a full-frontal view. This sincere slice of emotion disappeared as quickly as it came and was replaced with the specific air of business which every sentient life form had come to associate with Sherlock Holmes. 'I really do have to leave now; I abandoned John when he insisted upon investigating the prices of buggies in Mothercare. It is not a difficult leap to work out that the trauma of that particular experience alone may lead to his thinking that I've fallen off a building again. His mind does love to over-exaggerate.'

'Fine; I suppose it's for your own good if you head off. Mary told me that he tried to break your nose the last time you went missing.' Janine grinned back at him as he flung the cigarette into the rain.

'I wouldn't take everything which Mary says as gospel these days. She is perfectly trustworthy; however she does possess the same dangerous penchant for overstatement as John.'

Sherlock wandered back over to the bed to hunt for the remnants of his clothes. Janine used the waistband of his pants as a catapult to send the underwear flying towards him. He caught it with a deft grab and crawled back to her side, permitting her a soft kiss on the lips. She watched Sherlock dress meticulously, fluff his hair, and saunter across the room with a staccato of designer shoes. He stopped just before reaching the door and Janine couldn't get over the idea that he was taking her in; preserving her exposed image, still curled up where he had left her on the warm mattress. She watched him open his mouth to speak, think better of it, and then try for a second time.

'It can't happen again, Janine.'

'I know that, Sherl. But that doesn't mean you don't want it to.'

'I know.'

And then he was gone.

_**One word; wow! The sheer level of response to this fic has been overwhelming for what essentially is a post-Series Three doodle. Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed, favourited and alerted! I hope the second instalment didn't disappoint. If you've got any final thoughts, reviews are still very much adored. :) MC. xx**_


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